by Alan Lee
Manny and Carlos and Marcus all glanced at one another.
Marcus spoke. “Ronnie—”
“I stayed with Rossi for two hours. He sat removed and mostly listened to the other heads of the mafia. He’s rigging the fight against Mackenzie tomorrow and betting a fortune on the champion from Japan.” She went into the bathroom long enough to change into her nightie. “The Executioner has been ordered not to stop the fight, especially if the Yakuza champion breaks the rules. Plus, the head of the Yakuza is a man named Haruto and he’s planting an assassin in the crowd from Japan to take shots at Mackenzie if he’s winning.”
Manny said, “But if—”
“There’s more,” said Veronica. She took the glass of white wine out of Manny’s hand and drained it. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, somehow making it look good. She went into the bathroom and the water started running. “I overheard the bosses talking. If Mackenzie wins the tournament, he’ll be killed anyway. Duane agreed not to, but Darren found out and hired an assassin to do the job. Supposedly the hitman is already here.”
Marcus took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Then we can’t let Mackenzie reach the fight tomorrow.”
“Intercept him as they walk to the arena,” agreed Manny, wondering if that meant he’d lose his bet. “Four of us should be enough.”
“Agree. Only had two guards, plus Duane’s crew. Even if they activate his medicine, Carlos carry him out.”
Manny poured himself another glass of wine from the small bar. “How did you learn all this?”
“Because.” Veronica took a few minutes to brush her teeth, floss, and wash her face. She came out and said, “I’m pretty and Rossi is malleable. He invited me to watch the fight from his private box, and afterwards return to his hotel room, though he’s not staying at the Teatro.”
“Are you—”
“Of course I’m not, don’t be an ass.” Veronica sat on the bed and slid her legs under the covers.“I recorded the conversation using the microphone and camera in my clutch purse. I caught him laughing about the Camorra clans. They’re angry with him because he moved the tournament two or three years ago to Vomero, away from Secondigliano in northern Naples. He’s doing it to intentionally infuriate the people every year. He wants strife because it’s good for business, and the lesser soldiers can’t break through his defenses.”
Carlos said, “They gonna try anyway.”
Veronica yawned and turned out the Tiffany lamp next to her bed. “I’ve had a long day, boys, and the Egyptian cotton sateen is calling my name. Talk in the other room please?”
37
Marcus and Carlos had stalked Mackenzie returning from the first fight two nights ago, so they knew the route—a hidden staircase and hallway skirting the hotel’s major thoroughfares. The four infiltrators took up positions at a four-way intersection near the top of the staircase.
The plan was simple.
Kill the two guards, plus Duane. And anyone else.
Return down the stairs with Mackenzie and exit through the emergency door at the base.
Hide in the neighboring casino until Manny returned with their Fiat.
Flee to the airport, where Marcus’s associate waited.
Fly home and execute Darren Robbins.
Easy.
When the staircase opened at 9pm, six guards walked through, each brandishing an assault rifle and radio, followed by Duane and Mackenzie, then a tall thin German dressed in tactical gear, Mrs. Chambers and a pretty blonde girl, and then four more guards. Mackenzie’s wrists were shackled and he wore a bizarre black band on his left wrist. Other than that, he wore only fighting shorts and he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet.
Marcus gave a little head shake and the four infiltrators turned away from the procession, hiding their faces around corners. Veronica wanted to scream—she was close enough to speak to Mackenzie. But there was no way to eliminate the entire contingent of guards before help was radioed. They hadn’t expected this many.
Duane was talking to Mackenzie in a low voice. “I don’t trust the fucking Japs. You know?”
Soon they’d marched around the bend of the passage, out of sight.
Veronica said, “Shit. Now what?”
“Gun them down from behind,” said Manny. “And die young?”
“Not yet,” said Marcus. “In this hallway, even catching by surprise, we’d be toast. Need to find better odds.”
“So we’re going to let Mackenzie fight the giant Yakuza champion?” asked Veronica, an edge of panic in her syllables.
“He’ll win tonight,” said Manny. “Mack a badass hombre.”
“But the Yakuza have assassins in the crowd!”
Marcus said, “You two, get yo ass to the fight. The Japanese section. You see someone pull a gun, ace’em. Carlos and I stick around in case August comes back with a tiny guard detail.”
Manny and Veronica ran.
Manny kept his eyes on the Japanese spectators as he and Veronica prowled up and down the arena staircase, scanning for shooters. But there were hundreds of Japanese in the section, maybe thousands and the crowd was raging. It’d take a miracle for him to spot the assassins before they got a shot off.
Veronica tried to help him scan, but she kept sneaking glances at the cage. Mackenzie was winning, it appeared. He wouldn’t let the sumo wrestler get up.
Near the end of the first round, they heard gunfire. Two shots from the section above. The crowd screamed as one.
Manny charged, gun drawn.
“There!” cried Veronica, pointing. She whirled back to the cage, searching for Mackenzie. He hadn’t been hit, dancing away from the downed giant.
The two shooters stood in the front row of the uppermost section, long-barreled pistols held surreptitiously at chest level. Manny’s first round went through the closest assassin’s eye socket, and his next through his throat. The second assassin jumped in surprise and turned his gun on Manny, far too late. Manny fired his Beretta twice into the man’s chest, and then he was close enough to press the barrel directly into the guy’s forehead and squeeze the trigger. Loud and bright blasts in the darkness.
The speakers boomed as Ferrari, the master of ceremonies, called for order.
Most of the Yakuza crowd were screaming and recoiling away from the violence, but not all. Two accomplices behind the assassins went for pistols in their shoulder rigs.
Manny couldn’t get both. He fired from the hip and leapt blindly down the staircase. More gunfire, missing him. He tumbled and slid to the next landing, hidden by the heaving throng. Security charged upwards in the direction of the gunfire bursts. The guards ran past him without a second glance.
Tenderly massaging his ribs, he rendezvoused with Veronica below. Several minutes later they watched Mackenzie electrocute himself and the Executioner.
“What. The. Hell,” said Veronica. “Is he doing.”
Medical staff for both champions hurried into the cage.
“Tryna save the Yakuza’s life. Mack’s heart bigger than his brain.”
Finally Veronica found her voice. “The man I fell in love with,” she said. “Is an absolute mystery to me.”
“Look on the bright side, mamí. I just made a hundred grand.”
“Good. I need it.”
“Por qué?”
“I’m bidding on the champions,” said Veronica. “Both of them.”
38
“Those men over there. Crimson jackets, by the door.”
Veronica and Manny stood at the round bar, their drinks untouched. The betting hub was buzzing with energy from the night’s drama. Gamblers were screaming at officials, declaring because the Japanese champion still lived they shouldn’t lose their money. The American hadn’t won. But, explained the cashiers, safely ensconced behind steel bars, Signore Ferrari had declared the Yankee the victor. All bets were final.
Manny said, “I see them. So?”
“They’re looking for me. Rossi wants me to a
ttend his after-party.”
“Ah. You going?”
“I am not,” she said, punching numbers into her phone. “I’m bidding fifty grand on both champions, a record amount. I have to win one, don’t you think?”
“I think maybe you need to find sex in healthier places.”
She and Manny waited impatiently as the clock ticked down. The numbers hit zero and phones all over the room buzzed, followed by women groaning and laughing.
Veronica inspected her screen.
“I didn’t win Mackenzie,” she said in a whisper. “Someone bid over fifty thousand dollars for him. Unbelievable. I will kill that bitch.”
“Who?”
“I wish I knew. On the other hand…”
She held up her phone for Manny to see.
>> THANK YOU FOR BIDDING. CONGRATULATIONS, YOUR BID WAS HIGHEST FOR O PRINCIPE, CAMORRA CHAMPION.
>> YOUR FUNDS HAVE BEEN SUCCESSFULLY PROCESSED.
>> PROCEED TO THE CONCIERGE DESK ON THE SECOND FLOOR TO MEET YOUR ESCORT. A REMINDER, YOU ARE ALOTED SIXTY MINUTES ONLY.
“Veronica, no intiendo,” said Manny. “Why’re you doing this?”
“I’ll explain when I get back.” She placed her hand on Manny’s shoulder. “Wish me luck.”
“Buena suerte, mija.”
Veronica ducked her head and strode from the room before she could be spotted by Rossi’s henchmen.
Manny raised his glass. Caught the eye of a group of dejected Yakuza across the bar. Winked. Saluted them with the glass, and drained the scotch.
39
Her escort was a hulking man, head and shoulders taller than her, as strongly built as Mackenzie but fat, bald, with a prominent chin. Gold necklace and watch. He looked at her once, nodded, and then kept his eyes to himself.
“O Principe will not be chained,” he said in an Italian accent as they walked. “You assume risk associated with the activity. Your safety is not guaranteed, and you may be injured if we subdue him. The metal bracelet he wears is for your protection and we won’t remove it.”
“I cannot imagine the Prince hurting any woman walking into his chambers for the purpose of sexual recreation,” said Veronica.
The man made a grunt noise. “Rules are rules.”
The guard led her past a door on the second floor marked with an American flag and her heart skipped a beat. Was some bitch inside? The Teatro di Montagna took Mackenzie’s escape attempt seriously, it appeared—two armed guards stood outside his door, but none of the others.
Around three more corners, they found the Prince’s suite.
The antechamber’s walls were white, the carpet wine colored. Four attendants looked up at her arrival and she detected their approval.
She held her head high—I bid fifty thousand dollars for your champion. But it is he who is the lucky one.
Her escort opened the door to the inner bedroom and stuck his head in. Nodded to himself and stepped aside.
“You have sixty minutes,” he pronounced.
Veronica entered the bedroom and said, “Close the door, please.”
“For your safety—”
“I waive my right to your protection for the next hour. Thank you.” She took the handle and closed it herself.
“Veronica, cazzo santo, sei qui!” cried the Prince, and he flew to her. He kissed her mouth, her forehead, her mouth again, and said, “Sei qui, non posso crederci, sei venuto!”
Veronica, it’s you! I can’t believe you’re here!
She smiled as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted. “Ciao, Principe. È bello vederti.”
It is nice to see you, Prince.
He spoke into her neck, rotating them in a circle. “Non mi hai detto che stavi arrivando.”
You didn’t tell me you were coming.
She replied in Italian, “It was a last minute emergency. I didn’t know you’d be here. You are fighting very well.”
He set her down and kissed the top of her head.
“Veronica, it breathes life in me to see you again. I cannot begin to tell you.”
“Did the Camorra force you into Gabbia Cremisi?”
“No,” he said. He took her by the hand and led her to the bed. “I voluntarily entered.”
“But why? This is a horrible thing.”
“So is all of life.”
She stepped away from him to inspect his body. He’d showered and wore only shorts. He was a tall, hard man with muscles and ridges, and an open, mischievous face. Thick black hair and eyebrows, two days of scruff.
She said, “I don’t see any wounds.”
“I do not lose, Veronica. Except to you.”
She laid her purse on the bed and moved to the window. Did Mackenzie have the same view?
Was he with the woman right now? The woman who bid over fifty thousand?
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“It’s complicated.”
“Say you will marry me,” said the Prince. “I will win this tournament and we’ll run away.”
She turned back to him. Leaned against the window, rested the heels of her hands on the glass. He came to her. Started kissing her neck.
“My answer has not changed, Prince,” she said.
“I will leave this life. For you? I swear I will.”
“You entered a tournament expressly to kill other men,” she said. “You are incapable of leaving the life. We cannot be together. You know this.”
“But I am in love with you.”
“I was a prostitute hired to please you.” She placed her hands on his bare shoulders and pushed him away. “You fell in love with that woman. Not me.”
“With you.”
“You don’t know the real me.”
“I know we are meant to be together.”
She refused to look him in his eyes, such a deep rich brown, so full of hope and pain.
“Prince,” she said.
“We’ll get on a plane.”
“I’ve given you my answer twice. We cannot be.”
“I’ll be rich on Sunday. We’ll fly to—”
“I am married, Prince,” she said.
He flinched back, as if she’d struck him. But then he stood entirely still. Not even breathing for a long time. Not entirely unlike the statue of David.
Finally, “To who?”
“A man I love. From America.”
“A client? Like I once was?” he asked.
“No.”
“He cannot make you as happy as I can. As I did.”
“What we had was special, Prince,” she said.
“Yes.”
“But it was brief. And an illusion.”
“Not for me.”
“It was for money.” She took his face in her hands as tears leaked out of his eyes. “You’re a king among men. But you are destined for another woman.”
“Then why did you come? To torment me.”
“I came to beg you.”
He took her hand and kissed it. Closed his eyes. “I am a man you never have to beg, Veronica. All that I have and am is yours.”
“Then please…”
“Yes?”
“Help me free the American.”
He laughed. “The Yankee? You are joking.”
“I am not.”
“Why?”
“Because he is my husband.”
His shoulders fell. He released her hand and stepped backwards. Slumped onto the bed and slid off. Sat on the floor.
“No.”
“He was brought here because of me,” said Veronica, and she began to cry too. “It is me who should be killed, not him.”
“I do not understand.”
“I left Darren Robbins. I told you I would, someday. And I did. With Mackenzie’s help. And now he is suffering, because Darren hired a hitman.”
“This Mackenzie. We’ve spoken. He does not deserve you.”
“But he does. He’s the most remarkable man I’ve ever met. You would like him, in different circumstances
.” She knelt beside him and picked up his limp hand, hard and tough, and kissed it. “I’m so in love with him that some days I cannot function.”
“I despise him.”
“I know I am asking much of you.”
“You are asking everything.”
“I’m going to try,” she said. “But without your help, I will probably be killed.”
“I cannot help you. Rossi brought me to his room. Guaranteed me fortunes untold if I beat the American, and I promised. If I betray him? He’ll kill everyone I’ve ever loved.”
“Then you’re still a slave.”
“Always.”
“You deserve better,” said Veronica.
“That is the first lie you have told me tonight.”
“Mackenzie deserves better too. Please.”
“It cannot be done. We are surrounded by professional assassins. Watched by thousands of eyes. Much of our planet’s corruption is concentrated in this city, and the men here are not to be trifled with. Shooting your way out would be impossible.”
“During the fight, you can lose to him. He won’t kill you. He’s not that kind of man,” she said.
“You insult me.”
“No! I beg you.”
“I do not lose.”
“Prince—”
“And he is not worthy of you.” He was pinching absently at the carpet on which he sat, near a heavy plate bolted into the floor. In Mackenzie’s room, her husband would be chained to it. With the woman.
“He would spare you, if I asked him. That’s the kind of man I want to be with.”
“I am destroyed, Veronica,” he said. “You ask too much.”
“I know.”
“If I lose, I throw away fortunes.”
She shrugged, which always looked good on her. “Bet on the American.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bet on the American and then lose. You’ll be alive and rich. Mackenzie won’t let you be killed. He spared the sumo wrestler.”
“Mackenzie, I loathe this man. He makes a mockery of us. And now you say… Augh, never have I wanted to kill someone this much.”
She squeezed his hand.